Good morning Weathercock, How'd you fare last night? Did the cold wind bite you, Did you face up to the fright When the leaves spin from October And whip around your tail? Did you shake from the blast, And did you shiver through the gale?
Give us direction, the best of goodwill, Put us in touch with fair winds. Sing to us softly, hum evening's song, Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.
Do you simply reflect changes In the patterns of the sky, Or is it true to say the weather heeds The twinkle in your eye? Do you fight the rush of winter, And hold snowflakes at bay? Do you lift the dawn sun from the fields And help him on his way?
Good morning Weathercock, make this day bright. Put us in touch with your fair winds. Sing to us softly, hum evening's song. Point the way to better days we can share with you.
The bomb's in the china. The fat's in the fire. There's no turkey left on the table. The commuter's return on the six o'clock flyer brings no bale of hay for the stable. Well, the light, it is failing along the green belt as we follow the hard road signs. Semi-detached in our suburban-ness --- we're living in these hard times.
Well the fly's in the milk and the cat's in the stew. Another bun in the oven --- oh, what to do? We'll laugh and we'll sing and try to bring a pound from your pocket. Good day to you. Oh, these hard times.
The politicians sat on the wall and traded with the union game. Someone slapped a writ on our deficit --- not a penny left to our name. Oh, the times are hard and the credits lean, and they toss and they turn in sleep. And the line they take is the line they make --- but it's not the line they keep.
The cow jumped over yesterday's moon and the lock ran away with the key. You know what you like, and you like what you know but there is no jam for tea. Well the light it is failing along the green belt as we follow the hard road signs. Semi-detached in our suburban-ness --- we're living in these hard times.
Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green? With his long tail hanging down. He quietly sits under every tree --- in the folds of his velvet gown. He drinks from the empty acorn cup the dew that dawn sweetly bestows. And taps his cane upon the ground --- signals the snowdrops it's time to grow.
It's no fun being Jack-In-The-Green --- no place to dance, no time for song. He wears the colours of the summer soldier --- carries the green flag all the winter long.
Jack, do you never sleep --- does the green still run deep in your heart? Or will these changing times, motorways, powerlines, keep us apart? Well, I don't think so --- I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.
The rowan, the oak and the holly tree are the charges left for you to groom. Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green. Oh Jack, please help me through my winter's night. And we are the berries on the holly tree. Oh, the mistlethrush is coming. Jack, put out the light.
Hope everybody's ringing on their own bell this fine morning Hope everyone's connected to that long distance phone Old man he's a mountain Old man he's an island Old man he's a-waking says "I'm going to call, call all my children home"
Hope everybody's dancing to their own drum this fine morning The beat of distant Africa or a Polish factory town Old man he's calling for his supper Calling for his whisky Calling for his sons and daughters, yeah Calling, calling all his children round
Sharp ears are tuned in to the drones and chanters warming Mist blowing round some headland, somewhere in your memory Everyone is from somewhere Even if you've never been there So take a minute to remember the part of you That might be the old man calling me
How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning? Maybe there's always time for another christmas song Old man is asleep now Got appointments to keep now Dreaming of his sons and daughters, and proving Proving that the blood is strong
